


The Age of Appetence

by lucille_vici



Category: Gone With the Wind - All Media Types, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Supernatural Elements, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucille_vici/pseuds/lucille_vici
Summary: Scarlett wakes up expecting another dreary day under siege in Atlanta but instead finds herself in Charleston in the year 1847, where an ill-famed Captain Butler was not so ill-famed, nor a Captain. Fascinated, Scarlett learns of the man without the mockery and jest, the man with a burning passion and disdain for all things concerning propriety and decorum, all threatening to break through the gentlemanly exterior. As she begins to question their seemingly intertwined fates, she realizes she feels something she once dared never to say.
Relationships: Rhett Butler/Scarlett O'Hara
Comments: 24
Kudos: 40





	1. Antebellum

**Author's Note:**

> The events in this book are as plausible as Scarlett itself. But I was always curious on how a younger Rhett Butler would interact with Scarlett, so, with such an excuse, voilà! The characters do not belong to me but to Margaret Mitchell.

The stillness of the world frightened her. Scarlett had woken a few minutes ago but had yet to open her eyes, undeterred by the quiet lulls of nature. She first heard the wind rustle tenderly through foliage, then the delicate chirping of birds as they fluttered in the air, and she pictured it in her head. Warm, amber light pervaded the darkness of her shuttered eyes and she let out an indulgent sigh, unaware that such pleasant things still existed. Peace. These sounds had sounded so unfamiliar despite having grown up with them, vanished and stomped on, during the chaos of the war.

Tara, she thought. She must be dreaming of Tara. The cool air kissed her cheek and Scarlett shifted her face to the side in response but was met with the spiky tufts of grass that prodded at her skin.

“Oh!” she uttered. Her eyes were forced open now. One could only imagine her shock as she awoke to the spacious yard of her Aunt Eulalie’s pristine home, untouched by any indication of war. Sitting up stiffly under the languid shadow of a fruit tree, she reservedly admired the light spilling on the grasses and weeds, waiting for the distressing sounds of cannons and shelling to tear her away from her reverie. Her body sat like an empty vessel, counting silently up to ten, pushed on to thirty, and she stiffened. The sounds never came and the nostalgia she had reveled in was usurped by a wave of panic.

Her fingers dove to pinch at her cheeks, pulling more aggressively out of instinct, and let out a ragged breath at how awfully real it had felt. Yet, with the blood rushed to her cheeks, she still could not find any semblance of reality and sneered with indignation. It was simply unfathomable! Her, in Charleston? Why, she was just in Atlanta before sleep overtook her, with the Yankees right on the outskirts of the city!

It had merely been minutes when Melanie’s muted groans and Wade’s incessant cries bounced off the walls in that damp, deplorable room. That room, how it reeked of both life and death. Scarlett wanted to cry at times for she had no premonitions as to which would prevail. She had so desperately wanted to escape, to leave to her beloved Tara. But now that she was away from all the despair, she wasn’t sure if relief was the term to attribute to her flurry of emotions at that moment.

How did she end up here? Why would she dream of Charleston out of all places? No matter how desperate and fed-up she was with things, Charleston would be the last thing she would dream of. She huffed. Her temper simmered at such outlandish thoughts, and her anger was only exacerbated by the abstractedness of her circumstance.

Before her mind could linger on the complicated, convoluted mess any longer, she heard a voice call out in the distance.

“Scarlett dear, where are you? We must be going soon!” it had said, and she faintly recognized it as belonging to her Aunt Pauline.

“Coming!” she called out naturally and stood from her place, a bit dazed, and her head thumped at the gnawing thoughts of Atlanta and the war. Scarlett tried to push them to the side and hurried over to the direction of the voice. She would think about it later.

Perhaps if she could find out why she was here first, she could just as easily get out. She bit her lip. She could also savor this newfound tranquility, and revel in its simplicity until she stumbled to a way back to Atlanta. The latter seemed much more appealing. After all, if it were all a dream (which she most certainly thought it was despite her jabs at Charleston) then she should allow herself the pleasure to sleep before she would be rudely awoken to cannons and warfare. She must have been disturbingly wretched to have sought this city as refuge.

Scarlett was met with her aunt’s disapproving eyes as she turned a corner of the house, and they had looked displeasingly at her dirtied calico dress. In a second, they focused on her face, in the pretense of decorum. She felt self-conscious then and realized that this was the only dress she owned; the rest being lost to the oh-so-Glorious Cause.

“Oh,” her aunt had said at first before trying her best attempt to conceal a frown. “Please change into another dress, dear. It wouldn’t be appropriate to show up in such a state. And do hurry, it’s nearing dinnertime.” She quelled her irritation at her aunt’s poor veil of scrutiny and managed a smile.

“Yes, I’ll be with you shortly.”

Her feet carried her to the guest room, and with her mind plagued with much more distant thoughts, she couldn’t admire the beautiful decorations that filled the home, such indulgences taken for granted in the dusk of war. Instead, she marched into the room, with a resoluteness that would have put Sherman to shame, and opened the closet, instantly delighted to see a fair share of dresses in which she could replace her old, battered calico. But she frowned as she browsed each potential outfit, all far from the realm of what she deemed fashionable. The colors were dull and murky, and patterns were most unlike her. Unfamiliar even.

She spotted a valise in the corner and her skirt swept the floor as she darted to open it. God’s nightgown, she thought in shock. There it was! The green-speckled white dress and its frilly lace neckline, with accents of the dark green velvet cinched at the waist. Blood rushed to her face, and she began to feel lightheaded. She remembered that impassioned confession of love in the Twelve Oaks library, just as if it were yesterday. At first, she smiled at the remembrance of her beloved but just as quickly she had lost it.

The war had started that day as well.

She stared at it longingly, knowing it wasn’t an appropriate dress for tea, which was what Scarlett assumed she was being forced into. Though, the restrictions escaped her as she stared at the dimpled smile in her reflection in the mirror. Who cares for propriety in this dream Charleston of hers? An obedience to respectability readily escaped her as she donned on a petticoat and the dress, smiling at the glowing woman that stared back at her. Even after Wade, the dress still fit, and her vanity was coaxed by this wonderful fact. In that moment, it was as if the war never happened. She was a sixteen-year-old Southern belle who knew nothing of war and death and hardship. But she knew if she lingered on the sentimentality a bit too long, she would begin to gloom over the reality. So, she moved on with unparalleled brazenness. As bold as she was feeling, she had a bit of courtesy to her aunts and snatched a greyish-blue shawl from the dresser to drape over her squared shoulders. To have the dress on was thrilling enough for Scarlett.

“I hope I didn’t take too long,” she said, with feigned worry, as she bounced down the stone pathway and tied the green ribbon of her straw bonnet under her chin. Her body warmed at this familiar air of gentility and she put on her charming simper as she stared back at the women in the carriage.

Her two aunts shook their heads, completely at odds with their frowns.

“No dear, it’s perfectly fine,” she forced out and her eyes urged Scarlett to get into the carriage.

She sat across from them and made sure to tightly clutch her shawl. If they had any suspicions on what she wore underneath, they didn’t show it.

“Where are we going?” she inquired.

Aunt Eulalie gave her a faintly worried look. “You forgot? We are headed to our dear friend’s home, Eleanor Butler. She invited us for tea.”

Scarlett would have grimaced at the thought of a tea gathering if it weren’t for the name of that varmint to unexpectedly slip into conversation, just like he had slithered in and out of her life the past few years. She quickly changed her shocked expression into one of indifference, with an ease that would have impressed the conceited cad himself.

Rhett’s mother, she mused within her head. How pitiful, to have such a cad of a son. Though she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit interested.

“She was so happy last week. I think her eldest arrived from West Point that day. I’m sure she called us to tea to fawn over him,” Aunt Pauline paused, as if to ponder her next comment. “But I must say there is something off about that man.”

Scarlett’s brows burrowed into a downwards slant. West Point? Hadn’t he been expelled?

“What’s off about him?” she asked curiously before her Aunt Eulalie could interject, with her own gossip no doubt.

Aunt Pauline hesitated before she cautiously responded, “he’s a charmer, a bit like you my dear, but there is something wild about him. I respect Eleanor too much to speculate any further, though.”

Her eyes were begging to rolled. She had already implied a multitude of things with ‘wild’- quite salacious- and she had called Rhett much worse and cruder things in their time together. No doubt, this was him. Albeit this knowledge merely puzzled her further.

She feigned some ignorance and pondered, “he seems much too old to be attending West Point.”

“Oh Scarlett, he’s around your age,” her Aunt Eulalie chided, though the admonishing was unable to penetrate through the surprise that bubbled to the surface.

“Is he now?” she wondered aloud, with her pitch rising, in disbelief.

Her aunts mistook her puzzlement for a display of the more romantic affair and their frowns deepened, though they said nothing. The frustration from earlier returned to wreak havoc in her mind and she pinched herself as painfully as she could, her discomfort hidden by her tightened jaw that clenched her gums between her teeth. A metallic taste briefly coated her tongue.

The horrifying possibility came to her mind, one she had been unconsciously denying for this entire charade.

This wasn’t a dream.

But how did she wake up in Charleston overnight? How did the war disappear into thin air? And did Rhett stumble upon some fountain of youth?

Such questions swirled into a concoction in her head as the carriage brought her closer and closer to Rhett’s childhood home, unable to say a word. As curious as she was to see a young copy of the ill-famed Captain Butler, she was unable to surmise some sort of possible explanation for her circumstance. But the nauseating ache associated with such thoughts did not suit the refreshing view of the glimmering riverbank, sending a comforting breeze her way. She looked on with heartening awe. Had Tara remained this breath-taking? If she were to go back, would it welcome her just as peacefully as these oaks that lined their dirt-path road?

Hope instilled her petite frame, and she watched the moving kaleidoscope of shadows, cast by the canopy of trees, as it waved at her in the sunlight. Thoughts of her purpose here eluded her for a moment, consumed by Tara and warmed by the sun, as warm as her mother’s safe embrace. Less importantly, she thought of Rhett Butler too, wondering if her coquettishness would finally have some effect on the infuriating man. Unfortunately for her, she simply could not imagine it and pouted as she diverted her eyes to the Ashley River, dazed, for the rest of the journey there.

~<>~

The plantation was encircled by the river and framed by a wood of oak trees, which dawned a green that matched the emerald of her eyes and speckled with yellow ochre as the leaves glistened in the sun. A road that led up to the home had been paved and diverged from the main dirt path with small brushes and shrubs lining its grassy peripheral. A simple pine fence enclosed the fine plantation, with the porch and terrace extending around the entire perimeter of the house. Grand white pillars were erected along the two floors and left a space where the entrance stairs spilled out, as magnolia white as her skin. The whole affair was topped off with deep green roofing, a little bluish in tint, as well as a gable, protruding windows, and a center cupola, that only heightened the impressive airs.

It exuded all things charm and grace. But something was missing, something that explained her devoted affinity to her childhood home.

After being assisted out of the carriage, she continued to ogle the home as she approached, nearly forgetting about her two aunts who grumbled as they stepped onto the red earth. It was no Tara, but it was the closest thing to it in so long. She felt a genuine smile lift her cheeks and brushed her fingers over the vibrant rose bushes, the flowers almost as vivacious as she.

“It’s a wonderful plantation, isn’t it? As expected from the Butlers,” Aunt Pauline commented, without a hint of envy.

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with how breathily she had responded.

For some reason, her breathing quickened as they ascended the white steps and onto the porch, though her face immediately soured as she considered Rhett as the cause of it. Why would she be nervous to see that varmint? He is probably as maddening as ever. Before she could insult him any further, her aunt Eulalie ushered her to stand to side and knocked promptly on the door.

The woman who had opened it was perhaps as old as her mother- possessing the same elegance and maternal calmness- though there was something about her that was so distinctly Rhett that she was taken aback momentarily. It was the eyes, she deduced, which were just as black, but unlike the Rhett she knew, hers were far more transparent, and carried a warm gaze she didn’t think was possible.

She felt like as if she’d been caught when the woman stared at her, which put an abrupt stop to her surreptitious thoughts, and she replaced her surprise with a dimpled smile.

“And who is this fine young lady?” the woman drawled, and once again Scarlett recognized the familiarity of it all. It disturbed her, how familiar she felt with it, and hid an inner scowl.

Her aunt Eulalie patted her back and pushed her up a bit before answering politely:

“This is my dear sister’s daughter, Scarlett O’Hara. She is visiting from Georgia.”

Scarlett flashed a pleasant smile and went along with the formalities. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Butler.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” she cooed and stepped aside to allow them to enter and follow into the parlor room. Shortly after they sat, tea was served and she sipped at the earl grey with an effortless façade of sheer innocence, but within her calculative mind, she appraised the conversation of the three ladies. Scarlett kept her ears open for any gossip, especially on that cad, but was disappointed when none came. Just updates on the mundane things of life- activities that eluded Scarlett’s inviolable passion. She felt herself go red with impatience. It was baffling how little interesting things they spoke of, and quite irritable that none of it was information she was concerned to know. But she was a Southern belle, she reminded herself, perfectly demure and poised, so no one would know better of her clandestine intentions if she slyly asked:

“Are your children out, Mrs. Butler?”

Aunt Eulalie and Pauline, still hanging unto her mistaken interest from earlier, hid their disapproval from their faces, but Mrs. Butler on the other hand, brightened up like a daisy.

“Oh yes, my eldest, Rhett, just came back from West Point last week. He went out earlier to catch up with some friends I believe,” she rambled, her eyes sparkling with adoration. “And there’s also Rosemary, she’s just a baby, and Robert is right in the middle- he just arrived from school.”

She smiled, with an air of amusement. Rhett certainly had a mother who loved him.

“They sound lovely, Mrs. Butler.” It would be utmost truth if it weren’t for that skunk.

So, he was not home, she thought passively and felt a tinge of disappointment. She had wanted to see him in the role of a well-bred Southern gentleman, with the manners that spoke of the upbringing he was raised from, rather than the varmint that he turned out to be.

The fact that she might not see him that day sank in slowly before she was plunged back into a whirlwind of disturbing thought. He was the only thing she knew during the war in this strange world, and now she would not even see him. With the three older ladies busying themselves with conversations over tea, Scarlett had ample time to reassess her circumstances and her unthinking response to it all. The pieces to this disturbing puzzle were scattered across her unbelieving mind and she had willed them to stay in place. She had willed them not move- in fear of facing something she could not understand. Did not want to understand. The revelation gouged at her stubborn pride and she felt like such a fool. Here she was, Scarlett O’Hara, fumbling about and stalling like a frivolous ninny while Atlanta was on the verge of being seized by the Yankees!

She took in a sharp breath and clutched the shawl to her body with an unconscious rush of vigor. She was in Charleston, she knew that much, but any semblance of war had evaporated, and Rhett was now a young, upstanding southern gentleman once again (assuming he ever was one to begin with), but she was stuck in the past, in some demented and twisted dream, and no matter how hard she bit or pinched herself, she refused to wake up. The initial appeal to the whole careless endeavor had dwindled to a pulp and- disillusioned- she became alert, and now felt as if the walls were enclosing in on her to punish her for her selfishness. This dress, one that possessed both fond and terrible memories, had suddenly sickened her as she thought about the calico that she left on the guest room floor, forgotten yet alarming her of her responsibility.

Wade, Melanie, and Prissy could not survive without her and this burdening fact hit her like a powerful physical force.

She could ponder further on why she was here or how she got here, but those elusive details could wait till later. Only one thing was certain in Scarlett’s young mind.

She had to get out of here.

“Mrs. Butler,” she coughed, and the lady looked to her warmly.

“Yes, dear?”

Scarlett looked down. “I’m afraid I’m feeling slightly unwell from the carriage ride here. Would it be alright if I go outside for some fresh air?”

Eleanor smiled, “yes, of course. Do you want me to send a servant with you?”

“No, I’ll only need a minute.”

The second the affirmation was given to her, she tried awfully hard not to jerk out of her seat and bolt outside to find the nearest train to Atlanta. Her dainty feet rampaged down the stairs, not caring for how she shook the house, and dashed along the stone pathway that paved along the building. In the yard she spotted a lone oak, and it stood around the grasses and shrubs like a reproduced painting of her surroundings from earlier. Perhaps if she laid along the earth and fluttered her eyes shut, God would grant her desire and whisk her back to Georgia.

Her heart was set on this naïve plan but just as she was bound to turn the corner, a loud gunshot tore through the silence and Scarlett let out a high-pitched shriek, “The Yankees!” The temper that previously clouded her mind had blocked out the rustling in the yard and it was all acute to her now as her body shook terribly at the sound of approaching footsteps. The powerful noise was familiar to her, but it had always been hazily distant. It grazed by Atlanta as an awful reminder of _dies irae_ , the looming and dangerous reminder that the Yankees were nearing to pull the rugs from under their feet and the wool from over their eyes. Too frightened to even notice, the shawl that had once been so tight between her fingertips had slipped to the ground as she grasped onto a pillar to purge out the fear that had seized her being. Her eyes squeezed shut, in anticipation that Charleston would warp into Atlanta, and that the air would turn into that suffocating scent of sickness and death.

The words just spilled from her lips and, shamelessly, she began to pray.

_Hail Mary, full of grace,_

_The lord is with thee-_

“Uh, are you okay, miss?”

The voice was full of amusement and undiscernible traces of concern which broke Scarlett out of her short-lived delirium. Once she collected herself, she slowly turned her gaze to the man and inhaled sharply. There, in all his unmannerly glory, was Rhett Butler, who- much to Scarlett’s dismay- might have been the finest, most handsome gentleman she had ever laid eyes upon.

His skin, while not as swarthy as what she was used to, still possessed a golden hue, and he was clean-shaven which Scarlett begrudgingly admitted was just as becoming to him. He still towered over her and dressed just as well, only his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and was slightly wrinkled, and his hair tousled in different directions. The muscles that came with his seafaring and laboring were not as prominent, but he still possessed that tapered figure that exuded a dangerously alluring amount of masculinity. He was a man, through and through, even at such an age.

It was at this slightly unkempt appearance (along with her improper thoughts) that she began to blush.

“Yes, sir, I am fine. Thank you very much,” She curtly responded and turned to leave.

Rhett laughed. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She gave him a cold, questioning look- which served to amuse him more- and he pointed at the shawl that was strewn upon the grass. He graciously bent over and retrieved it, extending his arm out in invitation. The way his eyes swept over her body with carefree indulgence did not escape her and she fumed, marching in his direction and forgetting all about her ladylike disposition.

“Do you enjoy scaring people out of their wits? Is this how you spend your Sunday afternoons?” she rebuked, reaching out to swipe the garment from his grasp only for him to snatch it away and raise it over her head. She suppressed a scream.

“No, I was simply hunting,” he humored, his black eyes ablaze with mirth. “And you? Do you spend your Sunday afternoons running about in evening dresses for all of Charleston to see? Not that I mind, of course. And you don’t seem to be from Charleston anyway, Miss…?”

Scarlett finally got a grasp of the fabric and tugged it from his grip.

“You are no gentleman!”

He rose a brow and quipped, “I’m no Yankee either.” Heat flushed her cheeks at the jab, and he smiled even wider. “And who are you to deem the status of gentleman-hood? Certainly miss, you are no lady.”

She experienced a bitter wave of déjà vu and draped the shawl over her shoulders in a vicious fashion. All the eagerness to see him as a respectable Southern gentleman vanished with the wind and it seemed that he was still the same nasty cad. But, as Scarlett took the time to hide her observing, prying eyes with a glare, she noticed a significant change that would have shocked her more had her anger been less prominent.

There was an ease to his face that was nonexistent to his older counterpart, a transparency in expression that wasn’t masked over with mockery or jest or indifference. She could tell exactly how he felt then, a power so unfamiliar and foreign. Never had she seen him with such an unadulterated look of merriment, which merely emphasized the times she had found herself in- before the duel, before the buggy ride, before his disownment.

It was this antebellum, pre-disaster youth that they shared in this queer moment of time. Now, a faint look of wonder softened her once contemptuous face. He immediately took note of this subtle change in demeanor and gave a lopsided grin, flashing her his animal-white teeth.

“I knew my mother was having guests, but she made no mention of you,” he shared. “It’s a pleasant surprise from all the-“

“Ninnies and fools?” she interjected, and Rhett let out a hearty laugh.

“How frank of you, but I suppose that is the most appropriate way to put it. Pray tell me, where is it you come from that you don’t end up a ninny nor a fool?”

Scarlett gave him a dimpled simper. “I’m staying with my aunts Eulalie and Pauline here in Charleston, but I’m from Clayton County, Georgia.”

He seemed baffled for a moment before he roared, “A Robillard!” and nearly doubled down in laughter.

“You’re an awful cad!” she snapped and stomped in the direction back to the entrance.

The sound of his light footsteps followed her, crunching through the dry grass. In her head she could imagine the nasty smile on his face and whipped around angrily. Just as she had thought, the smirk was pasted there, as if it were a permanent fixture.

“Why are you following me?”

He chuckled and nodded his head towards the house. “I live here. I’m a Butler, you see.”

She seethed. “I know very well who you are.”

Before she could lash out at him, the front door clicked behind them. “Oh Rhett, is that your voice I hear?”

Scarlett froze before she turned away from the infuriating scoundrel and continued down the stone path, allowing for her temper to simmer down. Eleanor spotted her as she appeared from the shrubbery and descended gracefully down the stairs, her taffeta frock fluttering in the wind.

“Are you feeling better dear?” she asked politely, and Scarlett gave a tight-lipped smile.

“Yes, Mrs. Butler, I feel much better.” Unconsciously, her eyes flitted to the side.

Eleanor followed her line of sight and smiled, in a knowing way, as if she knew something they did not.

“I see that you two have met.”

“Yes,” Scarlett grumbled and lifted her head up to face him.

He had this charming smile on his face, his admiration juxtaposing his large figure as he looked at his mother. It was an unheard-of expression on his normally indifferent face, and it was quite becoming to him, seeming more pleasant than before. It was a similar look he gave Melly, she noticed, and huffed bitterly at the realization. He must have reserved such a look for ‘great’ ladies. The fact that he had never looked at her with such reverence was enough to make her blood boil.

Eleanor’s cheery voice pulled her away from her tempestuous thoughts.

“Well, this is my son, Rhett Butler. Rhett, this is my friend’s niece, Scarlett O’Hara, she is visiting from Georgia.”

Rhett grinned widely and grabbed her gloved hand to give it a soft, fleeting kiss. Even through the fabric, she felt the warmth, and shuddered at the smoldering eyes of coal that met hers, gauging for her reaction.

“Nice to meet you, Miss O’Hara.”

She merely glared, and unknown to her, her emerald eyes burst alive with her so-called ‘passion for living’ and her supple cheeks were dusted with a light rosiness from his kiss, which, in conjunction, caused the young Rhett to pause unceremoniously, before coughing and standing up again.

“You as well,” she clipped shortly and faced Eleanor’s awed face. The young mother shifted her gaze between the two youths and quickly replaced her expression of wonder with a look of graceful anticipation.

“You must have been startled to find my son out here, fooling about. Why, he didn’t even inform his poor mother of his arrival!”

Scarlett smiled demurely, hoping to wipe the smirk off the cad’s face.

She brandished all of her teachings in her repertoire and helplessly whimpered, “Oh, Mrs. Butler, I was so frightened. I heard a gunshot and, I felt so faint! I started praying to God!”

“How awful,” Eleanor said with a displeased frown and turned to project her scolding to her son.

Rhett chuckled. “Don’t worry mother. She recovered fairly quickly.” She scowled as he gave her an ill-mannered wink. He, too, decided to accompany her act and in the caricature of the perfect Southern gentleman, he mustered:

“Nevertheless, I must make it up to you for my wretched behavior! Say, look at what great weather we’re having. Perfect for a walk!” he flashed her a mischievous smile. “What do you say, Miss O’Hara?”

The bubbling amusement at his playfulness, along with the unrelenting brilliance of Eleanor’s maternal gaze, toned down her anger and she suppressed a growing smile. Admittedly, she had missed her talks with Rhett and was curious to see this unknown side of him. There was no puzzle to be solved and she could read him just as easily as he could read her. There was an even playing field to their emotions now, as she peered into his entertained gaze.

She allowed herself to smile, with genuine pleasure.

“I suppose it would be alright.”

~<>~

Rhett took her down the road to view the nearby plantations and chose to walk right by the bank of the Ashley River, the water flowing serenely near her dainty feet. They both were consumed by a silent appreciation for the nature that surrounded them at first, but soon the novelty began to wear thin on Scarlett and she looked to her companion with anticipating eyes. If she wanted to be a great lady (a notion that only spurred her tenaciousness) then she must wait for him to initiate conversation.

He noticed her expectant gaze and chuckled quietly.

“It’s apparent you wish to speak, Miss O’Hara,” he pointed out and after her silent reluctance, he leaned in and humorously whispered, “I won’t tell of your ill-manners to those aunts of yours, I promise.”

She giggled and batted her eyelashes coyly. “If you insist, Mr. Butler.”

The soured face at the name was not lost on her, but she had no time to process it, as his eyes immediately bore an amused glint at the little coquette besides him.

“Is this how you charm all the county beaux back in Georgia?”

She reddened at his directness but lifted her chin high and huffed, “Yes and I’ll have you know that it works very well.” The sight of his gleaming white teeth only served to irritate her and she sharply added, “But, as I’ve said before, you aren’t a gentleman, so it seems such things are wasted on you, Rhett.”

There was a brief silence as both realized what had been said and the man gave her a mere eyebrow raise. The corner of his full lips twitched up slightly, as if to hold back a laugh.

“Dropping the formalities already, are we Miss O’Hara?” he teased.

“Oh, hush up!” she hissed. “It’s not like you care about these frivolous things!”

His hand went to his heart in mock pain. “How you wound me with your assumptions,” he admonished, but his eyes were boyish and lighthearted. “But you are right, Scarlett. Such things seem futile to me, though that should hardly surprise you.”

She expected his gaze to do another appreciative sweep of her body, but it lingered on her face in an almost thoughtful way as the sunlight made her green eyes strikingly tender. His suave drawl seemed to caress her name, making it sound so pleasant, and had sent shivers down her body, despite the warmth of the summer afternoon. What exactly this meant, she did not know. The shawl threatened to tear at the seams as she grasped it with two shaky hands and wrapped it tighter around her shoulders.

When she peeked back at him, Rhett bore a queer reminiscent look on his face. “You know, you speak to me as if you’ve met me before. But I am certain we have not because you are not in the least bit forgettable.”

Feeling as if she’d been caught in the act, and never well-versed in subtleties, Scarlett had not caught the compliment.

Nervously, she said, “You flatter me so.”

He laughed, absent of mockery or jest. The look he gave her was undecipherable to her, but it was so warm and kind that she nearly forgot herself. Why couldn’t her Rhett be so nice like this all the time? Why does he always have to be so cruel and nasty?

She mentally recoiled once she caught herself. _Her_ Rhett? What a bizarre thought, she scolded, feeling a tinge of guilt for betraying her precious Ashley like this. Oh, dear Ashley! Why hadn’t she sought him as comfort amidst all this chaos? Her countenance brightened at the thought of the little gentleman and she could not hear Rhett’s sharp intake of breath, unable to see her own dreamy brilliance- inadvertently bewitching.

“No. I haven’t met anyone like you at all…” He muttered guardedly, and said nothing more, his broad, masculine figure leading the way back to his family’s plantation.

When they arrived past the fence, the three small figures of the ladies sat on the porch, talking amongst themselves before they spotted the two, the sight of them drawing a mixed reaction. While Eleanor had beamed affectionately, her aunts were looking quite bothered and gave Rhett suspicious, though brief, glances. Rhett hadn’t done anything to upset high society yet and they already despise him!

“I hope you had a nice walk,” Eleanor remarked, before her eyes lit up. “You know, I just happened to be speaking of the barbeque party we are holding for Rhett right before he leaves again.”

Rhett eyed his mother warily. “Mother-“

“You are so welcome to attend, dear. It would be a pleasure.”

At the sound of dancing, new life was breathed into her body and she gave an excited, pleading look to her reluctant chaperones. Her face was so childlike and innocent that it garnered a few quiet chuckles from the Butlers, charmed by her bright eyes.

“Oh!” she marveled. “It sounds lovely, Aunt ‘Lalie! We have to go!”

Unable to refuse in front of Eleanor, the two looked at each other before acquiescing.

“I suppose we can go.”

Delighted, Scarlett clasped her hands together and sighed. “I haven’t danced in so long, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how!”

“If such is the case Miss O’ Hara, fear not, I won’t be fussy if you step on my feet,” Rhett teased and leaned his back on the white pillar behind him. 

She raised a brow. “Is that your way of saying you wish to dance with me?”

“Perhaps,” he replied vaguely. “If a spot on your dance card is open, of course. I fear my chances.”

A giggle escaped her mouth before she could stop it; her vanity coaxed.

“I can’t make any promises, Mr. Butler.”

She saw that darkened look overwhelm his face, though in a second, he seemed jovial again.

“Of course,” he said simply and looked away.

His words were the only concrete things she had remembered before being whisked away by her two displeased aunts after a quick farewell, clearly finding the subtle flirting precarious and distasteful. Weren’t they young at one point too? Such uptightness must have pervaded from childhood, which made Scarlett shudder at the thought of being so snobbish.

As she sat in the carriage, she took one last glance to the Butler plantation and saw Rhett staring at her, still standing in the same place as he had when she left. His gaze instilled a deeper feeling in her which she could not pinpoint to a particular emotion, so she merely smiled coquettishly and watched him shake his head in amusement.

She was swallowed by whatever this world had offered, swept up in all the romanticism of the antebellum allure, and forgot for a moment that there was a war or Sherman or Melly or Wade. It would catch up to her later, she had no doubt about it, but for now, she would allow herself this luxury of selfishness. Sparing one last glance to the porch, she was too far away to see his obvious wistfulness and turned to face the river, breathing in the woodsy scent and closed her eyes.

For a moment, she pretended she was in Tara.


	2. Persona non grata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persona non grata: an unwelcome, unwanted or undesirable person.

_The hospital was grim with the stench of death and suffering; the shadows of each nameless soldier creeping along the walls and threatening to jump out at her. In a time long forgotten, her hands were creamy and soft as a lady’s should be, but now it was rubbed raw and bright red from scrubbing the blood off bandages. This day, she recalled, was before Aunt Pitty refuged to Macon. The day where she decided that she had enough of bloodshed and dying men, all by the hand of a fleeting cause._

_With one last hard look at the faces of the fallen, she felt bitter for a moment. She was not like Melly; there was no kindness within her to help these men out of her own volition. It all meant nothing to her, all was being lost for no good reason, and all she knew was that she wanted to get away. She had to get away._

_Scarlett ran, ignoring Dr. Meade’s shouts and the howls of pain from amputated soldiers. She could not handle it, unable to tolerate another blasted scream. The outside was barely better--the streets were in chaos with people running into all sorts of directions, with the dust and debris clouding their eyes. Still, they believed, and Scarlett had desperately hoped, that the Yankees would never be able to set foot in Atlanta. Scanning the road for any sign of normalcy, she spotted Rhett’s carriage and her feet moved on their own before her heart or mind could respond._

_“Rhett!” She called out, or tried to, for no sound spilled from her lips. Instead, the sound collected in her throat and she felt winded, choked by the inability of speech, and watched fearfully as smoke cloaked around her. “Rhett!” she tried once more, to no avail._

_The sky had been clear and blue but as the clouds of smoke descended, it swiftly morphed into crimson. If hell were a color, it would be this one--the inferno had swallowed the daylight and submerged the city into some abyss of fire. Rhett’s figure diminished to a harsh black silhouette and she walked and walked but he only seemed to be getting farther away. His body was bathed in the fiery light and he grew smaller as the smoke blurred her vision._

_The pain she felt went beyond physical. She felt she had been slapped, but the aching in her chest left a cavity so hollow and empty that she was sure her heart had been ripped out. This day went far differently than this, but the strange vision was so familiar, yet so undistinguishable._

_‘He’s leaving me, he’s leaving me’ streamed through her mind and with glassy eyes, she reached out through the smoke. He was gone and she cried out, her skirt fluttering as she fell._

Scarlett awoke with a gasp and jerked up from the bed. Her bosom rose and fell as she regained her breath, and her frantic eyes searched the room. _Charleston_ , she realized, not knowing if she should feel disappointed or relieved. The nameless emotions muddled together into frustration and she fell back into the pillows with a grunt. It was unseemly and quite unconceivable, but still here she was, and she could not do anything to change that. Tears pricked at her eyes and she fiercely blinked them away, her fists tight around the linen sheets. Wallowing in her sorrows would do her no good and if she thought about it any longer, she would surely go mad. She would make it home soon, she reassured herself. Not Atlanta and god-forbid, not Charleston.

Just as she was about to happily accept this little detour, her face contorted at the sudden remembrance of the strange, ambiguous dream. What bothered her most was not the foreboding nor hellish nature of it all, but the fact that she had dreamt about it in the first place. Why, since when did Rhett Butler dare infiltrate her sleep? The anguish she had felt was alarming; it’s as if she had cared for the blackguard and she reassured herself quickly—no she did not care!

Through the vanity mirror, she peered into the impassioned green eyes that stared back, challengingly. She had a barbeque to prepare for and a whole night of dancing to anticipate. Surely there was no room for him in her mind. Scarlett stubbornly pushed away such thoughts and sat up with pronounced spirit, her feet already tapping in rhythm with the music.

“Oh, but what do I wear?” she muttered and pried the sheets from her body, her eager legs rushing towards the closet and her open valise. The dresses that hung would all have been acceptable day dresses that would satisfy the hens of Charleston society, but Scarlett couldn’t bear to look like a matron. They were all so plain and dull, without a semblance of embellishment or fashion woven into the dreadful fabric. Looking to her valise to salvage some hope, she smiled as she spotted an earthy, yet vibrant green dress that begun on the cusp of her collarbone and shoulder, with a bertha lace collar trimmed all around the neckline and decorated with a black silk bow. It had short sleeves that were gathered luxuriously into small, relaxed puffs and flared slightly at the edges; it would surely accentuate the slenderness of her arms and figure. The skirt was full, bouncing with a gaiety that amused Scarlett, and she knew this would be the best dress to wear.

She called in a servant whose dark face stared at the evening dress with disapproval and unlike Mammy who would have chided and scolded, the woman quietly laced her corset, helped her into the daring green fabric, and fixed up her hair before leaving, without even uttering a single word. Oh, she was sure to scandalize Charleston! She had already done so at Twelve Oaks and they were countryfolk, but she didn’t find the idea at all distasteful. Why, she had been living throughout a war and could not wear such pretty dresses! No one could deny her this gleaming opportunity, and with enough charm, perhaps she could act demurely enough to deceive all those in attendance. She weaved a lace shawl between her elbows, slipped on her gloves, and grabbed her white lace parasol from the corner before heading downstairs with vivid nonchalance.

The horrified faces of her Aunt Eulalie and Pauline gave her an odd surge of satisfaction as she greeted them in the parlor. They were mid-conversation but as soon as she walked in, they stopped abruptly and looked at her as if she were dressed in her shimmy. It was such an absurdly benign thing to be worried about, she realized, and had to stifle her laughter.

“What a wonderful day, shall we head off now to the barbeque?” she chirped, nearly theatrically.

Their frowns deepened as they further scrutinized her choice of outfit—the girl did not even have the decency to drape the shawl over her shoulders! It was a delicate faux pas, that had been recklessly and impulsively broken by a girl who looked so much like a lady. It was Scarlett in front of them, but they were disturbingly reminded of the young Ellen, whose vitality was pummeled years before. Shaken by the resemblance, they watched as her shameless emerald eyes looked towards them, ablaze with impetuosity.

“Scarlett, dear. Certainly, you have a nice-looking dress meant for the afternoon?” Eulalie said, with much displeasure. “You can wear that later, once the dancing begins.”

She beamed with a veil of innocence. “Oh, but I do quite like this one. The other dresses were too plain for me. Now, let’s go, I don’t want to miss the barbeque.”

It was clear to see that there was no changing the girl’s mind, despite her act of lightheartedness. There was a passionate look to her, a burning fire in her brilliant eyes that dared them to challenge her position. Sighing, they did not take the challenge and started for the door.

“Do behave Scarlett.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Pauline sighed as she got into the carriage. Scarlett followed, without being helped up, and heard the two women gasp in horror.

“Scarlett!”

“What?” she almost spat, her temper bubbling.

“Oh, what has gotten into you? Is it that Rhett Butler who has made you act this way?”

She gave them an incredulous look. “Rhett? What does he have to do with anything?”

“Did he say anything to you when you went on that walk, dear? That boy has no manners, I’ll tell you! His poor mother and father can barely keep him under wraps, and it won’t be long till he drags you into all his trouble.”

Pauline nodded vigorously and added, “You should’ve seen him at the last social gathering, Scarlett. He was beyond aloof! He rarely obeys his father, and it seems as if he has no care for propriety!” She reached out and clasped her hands, and pleadingly asked, “please keep your distance, dear. He may be… charming, but he is not a true gentleman.”

Scarlett huffed and turned her head. “I may talk to whomever I please! You are worried for nothing.”

The two of them shook their heads in displeasure, like two wooden marionettes, in foolish synchronization. Too tired to deal with her obstinate nature, her aunts settled back into their seats and rode out the remainder of the carriage ride in silence, as if in anticipation for some mournful event. She simply could not understand what they were so wor.ked up for! Never had she thought that the day would come where she would pity Rhett Butler, but here it was, and she could hardly feel ashamed. Now she understood why he had wanted to get away from it all--why he said it was possible to live without a reputation. All these rigid rules were ludicrous! Why shouldn’t she be able to get into a carriage herself if she were perfectly capable? What does it matter if the dress she wears exposed a bit of her shoulder? Because that is expected of a lady, some inner voice admonished, and she took on a troubled look. What would her mother think of her, with such blasphemous thoughts in her head?

She did not have longer to ponder the question as she perked up at the sight of the plantation, bustling with newfound activity that replaced the peacefulness of the day before. Her eyes began searching—for what, she did not know—in the crowd of women and men whose Charlestonian drawls slowly crept in her ears, with a familiarity that eased her. Already, she had turned many heads and Scarlett smiled demurely at every face she laid her eyes on, determined to outshine the best of Charleston’s Southern belles. The challenge of dethroning some ninny gave her no greater pleasure and she smiled brightly as she allowed herself to be helped down the carriage.

As soon as her petite feet touched the ground, she abandoned her aunts without a thought. She reveled in the mixture of stares she got and whether they were scandalized or admiring, there was no doubt that they were all curious on the identity of this alluring visitor. Eleanor spotted her and smiled, shaking her hand enthusiastically; her eyes went to her dress and she rose a brow, though said nothing about it.

“Scarlett, I am so glad you could make it. Please, have a good time.”

She smiled back genuinely and waved as Eleanor made her way to greet her aunts. However, her gentle presence was quickly replaced by something more forbidding, and she looked up in surprise to find an older replica of Rhett Butler staring back at her with a stern, unnerving look. His demeanor was just as imposing, though in a much more intimidating way, with his wrinkles indented into his tan skin to make clear his malicious indifference.

“I don’t believe we’ve met?” he drawled, a refined gruff to each word.

Scarlett collected herself and smiled. “No, we haven’t. I assume you’re Mr. Butler? I’m visiting from Georgia, but my aunts are dear friends of your wife.”

“So, I’ve heard, Miss O’Hara,” he dully remarked. The cold civility unraveled the underlying impudence and she sharply inhaled. He had the gall to appraise her for some odd reason and when his gaze fell to her dress, she saw his whole countenance contort into something undistinguishable to her.

“Have a good afternoon,” he said darkly and walked off, leaving her gaping her mouth in the most unladylike way.

 _What a strange man_ , Scarlett thought spitefully and ignored all the longing looks sent her way—too shaken up by the brief, uncomfortable conversation with Stephen Butler. She marched into the hall with her jutted chin out, and in the crowd, she spotted the man she had been unconsciously searching for. He was talking to a girl who bore a saccharine smile on her face, while throwing herself at him like a stupid little fool. Oh, she was so plain, why on earth was Rhett speaking to her? As if he felt her lively presence lift the spirits of the room, Rhett turned around and caught her staring—her eyes ablaze with passion—and his lips curled into an amused smirk. She scoffed and threw her head back, turning around to follow her aunts whom she spotted across the hall.

Halfway there, she heard his roguish voice call out, “Why if it isn’t Miss O’Hara!”

Scarlett glared. “What do you want?”

He leaned down and brushed a quick kiss on her hand, all while baring his white teeth. “Now Scarlett, smooth your feathers. Care to tell me what has gotten you so worked up on this fine afternoon?” he jested, raising a playful brow, and she couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she simpered, watching as his eyes lazily swept over her figure. It was supposed to feel wrong, and she had the urge to reprimand his impertinence, but she felt no burden of her sin besides the warmth that flushed her cheeks.

“Yes, but more so on this little habit of yours,” he remarked, gesturing to her dress. “I see it that it isn’t just limited to Sunday afternoons.”

“Oh, you’re impossible!” she exclaimed. “If you saw the other dresses I had to wear, you would’ve understood if I came in my shimmy!”

The laughter shook his body and the two gained a couple of curious glances as Rhett continued to roar out his merriment. “Scarlett, never change,” he managed to get out. She too joined his laughter—compelled by its unrestrained and genuine quality that almost didn’t suit his character. Or the character she was acquainted with, she corrected herself, and she studied him more, intently searching to see if there was anything else that would be revealed to her, something that the Rhett of her time kept hidden. It would be wonderful to use something against him and deal the upper hand for once; he had made a fool of her too many times to count. But her mind could not conclude anything that wasn’t laid out for her, so she shrugged off this curious feeling—missed his own observant look—and followed him as they walked out to the yard.

“I saved a seat just for you, Miss O’Hara,” he whispered in her ear, as if it were some scandalous piece of gossip. Rhett sat down on the bench and patted the space next to him.

“How presumptuous of you!” she flirted, taking the seat. “Shouldn’t I be the one saving a seat for you? Back home, there would be barely any space for you here.”

He rose a brow and chuckled lightly. “Did you already collect some Charleston beaux whom you promised to eat barbeque with? As charming as you are, I truly doubt it.”

Her face perked up. “You think I’m charming?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were fishing for compliments.”

“Oh, how you do run on! As a matter of fact, I--” she began, though her voice trailed off as she took notice of all the attention they were gathering. There were a few indiscrete glances scattered around, but some old matrons were staring unabashedly—their beady little eyes focused on their more-than-subtle rendezvous.

“Why are they all looking at us like that?” she asked, though she could very well account for some reasons without his help.

“Let’s just say my behavior as of late hasn’t been up to standards,” he murmured, with undisguised contempt.

“My aunt was going on about that on the way here.” She felt him stiffen beside her and she looked to him curiously. “What did you do?”

“I had the gall to think for myself,” he explained vaguely, though the enigmatic air dissipated as he grinned carelessly at her. “And what exactly did your aunts divulge of me?”

“They said you’re an ill-mannered, troubled boy who isn’t a true gentleman.”

He chuckled, with traces of bitterness and--dare she presume--hurt. “I’ve never heard truer words spoken.” His knuckles blanched to white as he clutched his hand into a fist. “It seems that I’m too headstrong to be a proper gentleman, but not boorish enough to warrant ostracization. Why don’t they just cast me out already?” Rhett spat and signaled for some plates, sending disparaging glances towards their little, impromptu audience. Many heads looked away with embarrassment, bringing with them their honor.

“What did you tell them?” he asked, and Scarlett failed to notice the small expectant glint in his eyes.

“Well, I told them to mind their own business, of course!”

Whatever she had said had fulfilled his satisfaction as he let out a breathy laugh and shook his head in amusement. They began to eat and, instinctively, she did not bother to hide her healthy appetite in front of him, which only seem to please him further. Though, she was briefly distracted by some girl giving her a cross look from across the yard, clearly displeased by the fact that she was discarded, left no option but to sit with the flocks of patronizing matrons. Scarlett then realized that it was that plain-faced ninny from earlier—the one Rhett had willfully abandoned to speak with her instead. The wonderful feeling of power surged throughout her body and she stared right back at her, with vain delight.

“Oh Rhett, look!” she laughed. “Who is that girl?”

He followed her line of vision and could not mask his irritated scowl that she was sure was pasted on his face when she couldn’t see it earlier, and she wondered if it came accompanied with every memory of that young woman.

“Don’t pay her any mind. She’s mistaken me as her beau and I’m afraid she’s waiting quite endlessly for my chivalrous proposal of marriage,” he replied, with glaring sardonicism.

“Marriage!” she exclaimed, feeling inexplicably angry. “But she’s so plain! Is she that much in love with you?”

Rhett scoffed and gave her a queer look. “Love? That fool doesn’t love me. She just wants to bear the name Butler and if she has to marry the reprobate, so be it.”

Every word unfurled bitterly from his lips and Scarlett watched as his eyes were lit like burning coals, leering at the people who persisted to stare. The way he swung the water glass to his mouth was coarse and abrupt, as if every part of his body were poisoned with this indignation. Slowly, she was beginning to grasp the situation—this gray area of his life that she had been thrusted into. But, ultimately, she was confused, and as analytical savviness was discrepant with her practical self, she abandoned the thoughts and returned her attention to his brooding figure. He softened at her perplexed look, though the lingering irritation was too intense to dispel.

He straightened up and flashed a smile. “Let’s not talk about such sordid things. Here—let’s have a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” she questioned suspiciously.

“Yes, fun,” he laughed, while standing up, and offered his arm. Still doubtful, Scarlett cautiously placed her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow and Rhett led her to a pathway where some young couples were strolling about and chatting in hushed, delicate whispers. _God’s nightgown_ , Scarlett thought. _We probably look like we’re sweet on each other!_ As if he read her thoughts, Rhett laughed, and her face contorted with anger.

“Is this your idea of fun Rhett Butler? I think—”

He hushed her, “As much as I enjoy your temper, no.” He nodded his head to the left and her eyes swept in that direction until she spotted that mousy fool who glowered at her with most resentful look.

“Oh!” she murmured, with blatant irritation, and gazed up at his amused face. “What is she so mad for? It’s not my fault she can’t keep a beau!”

“I’m not her beau,” he coolly corrected. “Nonetheless, perhaps now I can make it perfectly clear.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Rhett laughed and with that, he drew her closer until her side was pressed against his bicep and he whispered:

“I mean this.”

She gasped, “don’t hold me like that,”—though it left her lips quite mechanically—and with one look at Rhett’s mischievous boyish eyes, to the reddened face of that now beau-less ninny, she laughed freely and wrapped both hands around his elbow.

“Oh, Rhett. You’re so silly sometimes. Now go! We’ll walk until she curses me straight to Halifax!”

His peals of laughter startled the other couples out of their own conversations, and turned their attention to the giggling pair, who were unaware of the lovely picture they had made. Scarlett peeked back to savor the look on that girl’s face, but she also caught the eye of one Stephen Butler who looked at them disgruntledly; it was a look that had momentarily smothered her good spirits. But she recalled Rhett’s clear disdain for his father and merely dismissed it, while continuing to tread thinly along the line of decorum—neatly on Rhett Butler’s arm.

~<>~

When Scarlett slipped into the guestrooms for the trifling affair of afternoon naps, she felt as if every girl’s eye were following her every move. The chatter in the room lulled considerably when she walked inside, and she could spot all the disdained, curious, and eager looks spread across the room like a wildfire. They are gawking like fools, Scarlett thought with ire. There was an empty bed in the corner of the room, and she walked towards it with her head held high and her shoulders squared, as if preparing for belligerency. She closed her eyes and sat on the bed, letting out a frustrated sigh before she began to undress. The moment she sat down, it was as if the daunting tension in the room had snapped in half and collapsed like a pile of bricks. In an instant, the air buzzed with a thunderous storm of questions, all intended for her to answer, and she looked up in shock to see many of the girls crowded around her bed—all looking quite expectant.

“How did you manage it?” one had said.

Scarlett’s brows knitted. “What are you going on about?”

Another girl nudged her way to the front and with wide eyes, she exclaimed, “Rhett Butler, of course!”

“What of him?”

“Is he courting you? Is he your beau now?”

Scarlett laughed hysterically at the idea. “No, he wouldn’t dare. Why? Do you want to marry him?”

“No, we didn’t think it possible—he hardly gives us the time of day! We were all so surprised that he was acting all sweet on you.”

Her ego swelled up at that and she grinned, not bothering to hide her pridefulness. “Is that so?”

“Yes! His father had arranged him with Sarah Ellis a year ago, but he refused to talk to her! Then, Mrs. Butler spoke to him, supposedly, and then he started acting like a gentleman again—but he stopped just a few months later. Now he doesn’t bother with proper conversation at all!”

Scarlett smirked knowingly. That sounded every bit like the varmint. It was the exact kind of charade he had pulled in the middle of the war; he acted the part of a courteous gentleman very well and all while amusing himself with his disguised barbs, dripping in mockery, to each and every caller of Atlanta’s Old Guard. She did not understand why he had stopped (it would be easier for everyone, especially herself, if he had not), so she simply assumed he had no more fun in his little game of pretense.

“He was a perfect gentleman. Perhaps he fixed his ways,” she hastily dismissed as she spotted the ninny. “Never mind that. Tell me, who is that girl over there?”

“Oh, Myrtle Davidson? Why, she’s one of Charleston’s finest belles,” the girl looked to her, her eager curiosity peeking through her attempts to stifle it. “You must know about her and Rhett Butler.”

Unconsciously, she had straightened up. “What about?”

“Well, she practically never leaves his side at parties. Except today.” She peeked at her again. “She always speaks of how they are to marry someday. I thought he was her beau, and she insisted so ardently, but perhaps we were all mistaken.”

“You were. He’s not her beau and isn’t mine either,” she clipped, rather coldly, and unaware of it. She was bothered greatly by the doubtful looks sent her way, grazing away at her conviction, and she turned her back them to lay her head on the soft pillow. She huffed and clutched the sheets with a white-knuckled fist. That plain-faced girl, a Southern belle! She was absolutely baffled, and a bitter rage ensued inside of her, with a passion and intensity that she could not begin to explain. Perhaps Rhett was lying about her being an annoyance? How else could this Myrtle fool think of such impossible ideas? Quickly, she recalled the pure venom in his voice as he spoke of her and dismissed the idea. Plus, she admonished, she should not care so much about who Rhett chose to spend his time with. It did not concern her, and she did not care for him. Her hands clutched the sheets tighter. Earlier, she could have spoken it with so much more assurance and spitefulness, but now she was uncertain in her thoughts concerning the scoundrel.

A voice called out, urging the girls to nap. The calmness of slumber swept over the room, but Scarlett could not sleep—she never was able to—but this time there was an underlying reason and she dutifully ignored it. She would deal with him and his reprobate ways once she went downstairs.

~<>~

The captivating music of the waltz had enchanted Scarlett as each note shook her body with astounding memorability. Her feet tapped rhythmically against the floor, hidden by her voluminous skirt, and she whirled herself into the ballroom in a dreamlike state. Awestruck, a man approached and introduced himself to her, but she gathered nothing from his greetings except for his request to dance. The word ‘yes’ escaped her lips right away and she was instantly granted that invigorating feeling with each twirl and spin, in the arms of any man, whose name nor face mattered. What mattered was that she was dancing once more and that she felt young again, readily forgiving the clumsy manner of her dance partners with a flirtatious smile and demure, charming remarks. With request after request, and yes after yes, Scarlett quickly became the center of attention—her radiant vivacity too brilliant to miss. She was so bright, so lively that one’s gaze was drawn to her immediately and once spotted, it took a laborious amount of effort to look away.

As she was dancing her heart out in some unknown man’s arms, she spotted Rhett enter the ballroom with an effortless, yet powerful gait. For a second, she understood polite society, as he exuded masculinity unfit for gentility in a manner so casual yet so plainly deliberate. Once he caught her eye, Scarlett had the irrepressible urge to quicken each step, as if that would compel the music to finish for her sudden dose of impatience. It had lasted longer than she would have liked but once free, she immediately marched to Rhett Butler, who was half-invested in a conversation with Eleanor, and his eyes lit up with mirth at her zealousness, an expression that had not escaped the mother’s watchful eye.

“I assume you’re here to fill up your dance card?” he jested, and they bid his mother goodbye as they walked away, bringing their ill-mannered discussion with them.

“You have such a nasty way of putting things,” she chided. “Can’t you just ask me to dance like a normal person?”

“Scarlett, where’s the fun in that? I thought we established that I’m no gentleman.”

She ignored him and looked achingly to the dance floor. “You and your fun. Are we going to dance or not?”

“Yes, but I’ll have you know that I plan on fully monopolizing your time. You won’t be leaving my arms for a while.”

“Rhett!” she reproached, though she was secretly thrilled by the prospect. Before any other feigned offense could escape her lips, he swept her away to the dance floor as the waltz began to play and his arm went around her tightly, pulling her close to what was barely considered appropriate. She felt a rush of déjà vu fill her body and looked up at him pointedly.

“Hold me any closer and I’ll get mad at you.”

“Will you really? I warn you, you’re tempting my curiosities,” he teased and gave into his temptations. She felt so delighted in his arms, taken once more by his wonderful waltzing skills, that she didn’t bother to berate him. In fact, his proximity merely excited her further, in a way that no lady should be excited by. He smiled rather fondly at her lighthearted giggles and she dwelled on it for a moment, but she was quickly propelled back into the dizzying rhythm of music.

Scarlett quickly realized that evening that Rhett had not bluffed, though she had always known that he was being serious. He took the next dance, and the one after that, and all the others that followed, with a fervor that had blurred all the intermissions together until she was sure that she had never left his arms in the first place. All the peahens and matrons of Charleston, priggish and pretentious, had looked on haughtily at their unfitting display of familiarity and incongruous passion.

She smiled brightly at him. “You may waltz divinely Rhett, but another dance and we’ll make ourselves conspicuous!”

“We’ve already made ourselves conspicuous!” He laughed, attracting more glances, and held her tighter if it were even possible. “And don’t you act so humble, Scarlett. We’re the best-looking pair in this ballroom and you know it.” She smiled coyly. He was right. No one was half as pretty as her and Rhett was the most handsome man in the room! It would be sinful if they hadn’t been staring!

Scarlett looked around and quickly glanced past her aunts’ faces—not needing to look very long to recognize their disapproval. “You’re laughing now, but I don’t think the rest of Charleston is very amused.”

“If I recall correctly, you were laughing along with me.”

“You know, you aren’t supposed to remind a lady of her indiscre— now, don’t you dare say it Rhett Butler.”

He chuckled. “I won’t.” His eyes scanned the crowd then and she caught the exact moment when his face darkened, the smile fading from his lips. “Let’s rest for a while.”

All the warmth and amusement evaporated between them as he stepped away and she trailed dazedly behind him, puzzled, but as soon as she saw his father and mother striding towards them, she sobered up. Quickening her pace, she managed to catch a glimpse of Rhett’s profile, now masked with indifference, yet his black eyes were filled with such burning hatred. Glancing between father and son, she could not help but wonder what had caused such a chasm in their relationship. Whatever the cause was, she had quickly forgotten, for Scarlett tried her hardest to repress a scowl at the, once again, calculative gaze of Mr. Butler, sizing her up with passionless eyes.

“Father,” he stated, the word rolling from his tongue like a nuisance.

Eleanor parted her lips to speak but looked down as her husband interjected.

“Quite the scene you made.”

Rhett’s jaw tightened. His chin jutted out. She could see the veins protrude from his skin, assuming all power to appear unaffected.

“Care to elaborate father? I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he jeered, and suddenly, that mocking, ruthless blockade runner was back, his vengeful presence lingering in the youthful face and stature—enriched and strengthened by anger.

The older man answered brusquely, “will I have to speak to you in unrefined terms, again? I suppose it is the only language you understand.”

“Speak whatever language you want. You seem quite well-versed in both ways. It’s quite unbecoming of the self-proclaimed gentleman.”

Every word exchanged was meant to jab and scathe, leave damage and hurt, but neither man was undeterred—every remark merely sharpened their rancor. Soon, words failed to even capture the familial hostilities and silence fell among the illustrious father and his errant, insubordinate son. Scarlett felt she had intruded into something awfully intimate, though her curiosities kept her anchored in place, exchanging an uncomfortable smile with Mrs. Butler. She thought Mr. Butler was quite hateful.

“I see you still have no sense of deference in you. It’s a shame, I thought progress was being made.” He glanced to her. “Now, what I came here to say. A Miss Myrtle Davidson has been looking for you. I’ll happily forget your conduct as of tonight if you see to what she wants.”

Rhett scowled, just as he did earlier at the mention of her, then looked at Scarlett. One glance at her seemed to have revitalized him and scoffing, he bowed in the most mockingly gallant way before heading off to endure more temper-inducing conversation.

“And you, Miss O’Hara. As a Robillard, I half-expected that you would’ve kindly discouraged my son’s uncouth behavior. As it is though, it must be the Irish side of you that has you behaving as such.”

It was not difficult to loathe the man before, but now, Scarlett could feel every fiber of her being ooze with pure, unadulterated hatred. Who was he to criticize her being in such a repugnantly graceful way? He stringed his insults into civil rebukes that angered her and, never able to control her facial expression, she could not hide the tempestuous glare that bore into his unfeeling face.

“I’d thank you to not speak about my family in that way,” she spouted, with unconcealed vexation. “Why, my Irish peasant father is more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be!”

Before she stormed off, she heard Eleanor’s gasp and became sickened by the small, wicked smirk that crossed that hateful man’s face. She’ll never understand the Butlers, she hastily concluded, and walked out of the ballroom, and into the grand foyer. Where she was headed, she did not know, but she wanted to be as far away from those judgmental, propriety-crazed people.

“Take me home already!” she mumbled, feeling terribly aggrieved. As she was about to pass the opened doors of the library, a familiar drawl paralyzed her feet to the floor and extinguished the fury that had once poisoned every inch of her body. Then, she heard the voice of a girl, and the rage washed over her, the emotions shifting with a swiftness that was both irrational and inexplicable. Peeking from the threshold, Scarlett saw Rhett positioned by the window, with that Myrtle girl clasping her hands together behind him, like a little mousy ninny.

“You’re still going on about that buggy ride?” he questioned, clearly irritated, and Scarlett swallowed back a gasp.

“Yes, it’ll be quick. No one will even notice we’re gone.”

He looked back at her, his eyes alight with suspicion. “Without a chaperone?”

“We shouldn’t disturb anybody’s fun. It’s just that, well, your father said you cared something for me… and I…”

Rhett bitterly laughed. “Did he put you up to this? After all that talk on refinement… Damn him.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “You mustn’t say such things about your father! He is so kind—"

“Please don’t go on with this. You want a buggy ride this badly? Fine. You deserve some compensation for all the senseless lies my father has been feeding to you. Even more so now—now that I pity you for thinking that he’s a thoughtful gentleman. Maybe this way, you'll realize the sort of rascal I am. But, after this, don’t expect anything else from me. I’m not your beau and I never wanted to marry you.”

With such frank words, Scarlett was shocked that the girl still wanted to go for a buggy ride. She probably thinks she can make him care, or that secretly he holds a secret, passionate flame for her. How foolish, she thought. Rhett had made it so clear he did not love her, yet she still clings on! (Of course, Scarlett did not recognize the stark parallels with a certain gentleman in her life and continued with her inner lambasting.) In amidst of her eavesdropping, she also realized the implications of this very infamous encounter. If she let them go, Rhett would be disowned and the girl, ruined. Her body ached to move and stop the whole affair from taking place, though she was reluctant to change something so deeply-rooted into the reputation of the mercenary Rhett she knew—the unreceived and devilish reprobate.

After a brief silence, Myrtle strained a whisper. “Is it because of that O’Hara girl?”

The hair on the nape of Scarlett’s neck bristled.

“What about her?”

“She’s caught you too, hasn’t she? After that horrid display in the ballroom, how she threw herself at you, like a—like a—”

In an instant, all the doubts concerning intervention were gone—replaced by an all-consuming animosity—and Scarlett angrily marched into the room, catching the foolish ninny by surprise. Once there, by fault of her impetuosity, she didn’t know what to say and merely glared at the younger girl, who was devoid of all color. Rhett seemed surprised too, though his cross features slowly softened into relief.

“Scarlett,” he began. “Is there something wrong?”

She straightened her back and nodded, still seething with rage. “Yes. Your… mother was looking for you.”

“My mother?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, through clenched teeth, for he smiled at her smugly, and walked lazily to her side, in a pace so casual it undermined the whole encounter she had just unfortunately witnessed. He turned his head with no effort, in a manner that was barely considered a turn at all, and addressed the pallor face of Miss Davidson, who was ashamed beyond her wits.

“I’m afraid that buggy ride is going to have to wait. I must go see what ails my precious mother.”

The two walked out and Scarlett blazed ahead, her temper bubbling further at his amused chuckles.

“How dare she talk about me in that way! _I_ threw myself at you? Why, you’re the one who was being indecent and kept pulling me closer! What a stupid little fool!”

“Indeed, she is, Scarlett. But do tell me what you were doing eavesdropping on us? Were you unable to last another second without my presence?” His eyes were mirthful, yet they demanded something greater of her, a thing she could not discern, and searched with profound expectation.

“Whatever gave you that conceited idea?” she huffed. “I was simply looking for a way out. I couldn’t bear to stand in the same space as that—that man!”

“Ah, the reputable Mr. Butler. Only a gentleman when he finds it convenient. What did he do? Pick apart your ancestry?”

Scarlett did not wish to satisfy his arrogant self by telling him ‘yes’, though the gleaming eyes of amusement told her that she didn’t need to say a word. If she didn’t tell him, he was sure not to know; it was a childish mindset—embedded into this child who refused to concede such a trivial victory. She grumbled and adamantly refused.

“No! He said nothing of the kind! What I want to know is why you ever agreed to that silly girl’s request!”

“If you were any good at eavesdropping, you would know why.”

“Rhett!” she exasperated. The infuriating man merely shrugged, as if lifelong disownment and getting one’s name stricken from the family bible was anything to shrug about.

“Now, Scarlett, what’s so wrong about an innocent little buggy ride?”

“Fiddle-dee-dee. You mean to say going out with no chaperone is innocent? Just imagine the scandal you could’ve given those peahens!”

He feigned a gasp that would have coaxed a giggle out of her if she hadn’t been so irritated at his nonchalance. “What are you implying, Miss O’Hara? Certainly, you don’t think me to be that uncouth. It would have been a harmless affair.”

“Oh, do whatever you want! But if something happens, don’t go complaining to me.”

“I’m not going back,” he chuckled. “Why would I when you gave me a perfectly noble excuse to escape with? Here—watch—let’s put those worries of yours to rest.”

Rhett, with the utmost mischievous look, walked up to a lean, blonde-haired man, with eyes as innocent and cow-like as Melanie and Charles Hamilton. Alone, he would have appeared to be of normal size for his age, but next to Rhett, he seemed to be lacking something beyond him—something larger than life. It was truly roguish of him, she thought, and watched as the boy’s face blanche as they approached.

“Good day, sir. May I ask a small favor from you?” Rhett said, with every word coated in a mockery that was unrecognizable by those who did not share his rebellious spirit. Normally, she would have found such subtle ridicule to be aggravating, but it was quite amusing when she wasn’t on the receiving end of his jokes. The younger man looked around, as if being caught with them were a punishable offense, and meekly replied:

“What is it, sir?”

“A Miss Myrtle Davidson is in the library due to a sudden spell of restlessness. Would you kindly be a gentleman and go grab her a nice glass of water?” he performed, with persuasive charm, that was wildly unnecessary, for the sound of the belle’s name was enough to cast a dreamy-eyed look on his face. Scarlett looked away, disgusted. It was that face she saw when Charles asked to marry her.

“Of course! I’ll see to Miss Davidson’s needs right away!” he grinned foolishly, like a lovesick puppy and ran off to fetch a glass. She opened her mouth to say something, yet nothing came out, and she looked at Rhett who seemed mighty proud of his selfless act of matchmaking.

“How kind of you to pass on your burdens.”

He roared with laughter and she would have joined him had she not been thinking—thinking way too much than what she was accustomed to. She seemed to be doing an ungodly amount of it in Charleston. What if she asks that boy for the buggy ride instead? Would the buggy incident still happen then? All the what-ifs and likelihoods became all muddled in her brain, clashing and sparing until they were all intertwined into one indistinguishable mess. She pushed away all the impending thoughts and ending up laughing with him, focusing on the shallow comedy that lay in their very temporary situation. At least Rhett isn’t in trouble, she thought. But, whatever happens, unlike Rhett, that boy was a gentleman.

He would not abandon deference. He would keep his ill-defined honor.


End file.
